MF1.0 - 01 - Broken Doll
Twenty years ago. Agent Ryan wished the small child would stop screaming. Unfortunately, she didn’t, and the Solstice cultist decided to escalate the situation. ‘Get the hell away from me, proxy!’ The cultist, a young man – though one unlikely to get any one, struggled for his next breath, exhausted from the chase. The Solstice clutched the terrified toddler to his chest, one hand tight around her middle, the other waving his pistol wildly. He looked around the room - presumably for an exit. He moved to the left a little and blocked the only door to the room. Now the only escape from the nursery was through the small windows, and the cultist was unlikely to do that - it would mean turning his back. ‘Put the child down.’ ‘If I do, you’ll kill me!’ He kept his gun steady. ‘Only if you believe your own propaganda, I’m willing to talk.’ The cultist’s impromptu human shield started to struggle harder. She screamed again, then settled on crying, clutching the doll in her hands tighter to her tiny chest. He watched as the cultist gripped the little girl tighter. ‘Put your gun down,’ the doomed Solstice yelled with a confidence he didn’t have. ‘Or…are you going to kill this kid as well?’ He lifted the child higher, allowing him a better view of the crying and terrified girl. He stared blankly at the cultist - unwilling the harm the child unless there was no other option. ‘Oh look, you bastard,’ the cultist said sarcastically, ‘you made the thing cry. Are you really going to hurt this precious little civvy? Pick one you soulless prick!’ he shouted. ‘I don’t have time for this shit!’ It impressed him that no one had called the authorities, or had even noticed the situation. This type of situation usually lead to a screaming and frantic parents making things difficult. No one was screaming. No authorities - besides himself of course - had been called. The party outside must have been very important. And loud. He didn’t mind - he preferred to work without interference. It made his job easier. He had no wish to prolong the situation. ‘One last chance. Talk.’ ‘No,’ the cultist hissed as shook the child to quieten her – it failed miserably, and she dropped the doll, the fragile porcelain smashing on the floor. He nodded in acceptance of the cultist’s decision to…well, to die. ‘You brought this on yourself.’ He lifted his free hand and clicked his fingers. The child disappeared from the cultist’s hands and reappeared in his own. Tipping the situation in his favour gave the Solstice another chance to reconsider – they often did, the fear of their imminent death saving them at the last moment. The cultist howled in rage and fired wildly. The bullets smashed a lamp, a picture frame and into his chest, he fired a single shot in return and the cultist fell. The body landed with a wet sound, then everything was still. He took a moment to concentrate and heal the holes in his chest. It was then that something became very apparent. The child had stopped moving. The gun faded from his hand and he lifted the child to look at her. A single bullet had gone into her chest – straight through the purple dinosaur on her shirt. The tiny spark of her soul floated past his eyes, hung hesitantly in the air for a moment then began to fade. No. His hand shot out grabbed it. The blue light streamed out through his fingers, like he was holding a small star, and he could feel it trying to fade away. Effort creased his forehead as he tried to stop it from disappearing. ‘What are you doing?’ a cold voice asked. He held onto the soul for a moment longer, then released it. He’d done what he’s needed to do – he’d garnered her attention. He held the tiny body close and turned to look at Death. All he could see of her face was a skeleton’s grinning mouth. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she asked again. He looked down at the dead child. ‘She is too old to become a Starbright.’ ‘Far too old. Your point?’ ‘Lady, please, I beg of you.’ ‘She cannot make the choice to come back on her own.’ ‘Has she passed?’ he asked, afraid of the answer. It took her a long moment to answer. ‘Not beyond my knowing.’ She removed her cowl, disappointment apparent on her “human” face. ‘One day you are going to have to live with the consequences of your actions.’ She looked closely at the girl. ‘It may not be today, but one day, you will.’ He stooped and placed the body on the floor, and as an afterthought, picked up the broken china-headed doll. Death nodded to him and they faded from the world. He kept his eyes closed as he sank through death’s realm – he hated the feeling of the void, the utter nothingness around him. No matter how many times he went there, he still felt like an intruder. It was not a place that an agent belonged. When he felt solid ground under his feet again, he was brave enough to look. He was in Limbo. The gray ground was the same as it always was, as was the winter-dead forest. The perpetual storm clouds swirled overhead, promising a great storm, one that never broke. A slight breeze stirred the dirt at his feet, and a laugh made him look up. Near the tree line of the winter-dead forest, the guardian of Limbo - herself having the appearance of a little girl - sat playing ball with the dead child. Limbo, in her monk’s robe, was a being that existed in grayscale - her hair silver, her skin ashen and her eyes black. Nonetheless - he realised as he watched the two girls roll a bright red ball back and forth - that she was joyful as a sprite. Death touched his hand, a rare gesture. ‘You’re hesitating.’ He looked down to her. ‘And before you ask, no, you do not have the right to do this. And yes, there is every chance she will become a ghost, is that what you wish on annotations her?’ ‘Of course not.’ ‘Then let her pass.’ He looked over at the little girl - in this place, the bullet hole in her chest didn’t exist. ‘No.’ Death looked up at him. ‘She deserves a chance.’ ‘As you wish. She has to come willingly,’ Death reminded him. They walked over to the two girls, and he crouched before them. Limbo’s guardian stood, handed him the ball, then walked over to her older sister. The little girl blinked at him and expectantly held out her little hand for the ball. When he didn’t roll it, she scooted away a little. He put down the ball and held up the doll with a smile. She stared at it for a moment, then burst into tears. It occurred to him then that showing her a doll with a broken head wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had. He frowned, then looked at the doll, a moment later, the china slipped and melted, repairing the broken face. The little girl squealed in delight and ran over to him as fast as her stumbling legs could carry her. She grabbed the doll and hugged it tightly. He stood and looked at Death. ‘May I take her back now?’ ‘She has not said yes yet,’ Death replied. He opened his mouth to protest, then felt small arms grab onto his leg. He looked down and saw the girl hugging him. She mumbled something that could have been ‘thank you’ into his pants leg. ‘Now she has,’ Death said with a smile. He knelt down and picked her up. ‘Time to go home Stephanie.’ Category:MF1.0